


Love for the Gayme

by anatomyofacynic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Boys Kissing, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, They play football, They're 17, a teeny bit of homophobia but like barely any cause i want this to be mostly happy, and its gay and angsty and also fluffy lol, bisexual galileo, but mostly friends to lovers, dumb boys in love, gay ryan, gonna be sick amounts of fluff lol, he thinks he's straight at first but he isn't really in denial once he starts to like galileo, i know nothing about football i’m sorry, original characters by scrubster_ on instagram and scrubsterart on tumblr, some minor depictions of violence but not a lot, sort of strangers to enemies to friends to lovers, thats basically it, theres smut of course there is, this is very very self indulgent, well they'll get there lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 20:25:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatomyofacynic/pseuds/anatomyofacynic
Summary: Ryan West, star quarterback and captain of the Northvale football team. Pretty, confident, aggressive, and just a little bit out of reach. Galileo Neri, runner and resident nerd. Sweet, quiet, smart, and not in Ryan's league at all. At least not literally, until a plan between his father and the school's football coach lands him a position on the team. Between learning to play a sport he hates and trying to tamp down his sort-of crush on Ryan, Galileo has a lot on his plate. But so does Ryan, as he's forced to deal with his feelings for a boy he never thought he'd be friends with in the first place.aka this artist I love made some oc's who play football and are in love and I've taken the liberty of writing this! lots of gay, fluffy times ensue (and a little bit of angst cause who do u think i am)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! so i write fics a lot but i literally never post them ever, lol. i was debating posting this one but thought it would be fun because since these are an artist's original characters, there are pretty much no fics for the ship.
> 
> firstly i wanted to reiterate THESE ARE NOT MY CHARACTERS!! i've developed their personalities in my own way, but the actual characters are not mine. they belong to scrubster_ on instagram (& scrubsterart on tumblr, or galileosbutt for ryleo only art). most of the basic info comes from her, like names, age, looks, the fact that they play football, and general aspects of their personalities/background that i've been able to learn through following her and reading the captions of the art.
> 
> once we get to the relationship part of the story, some of the scenes will be inspired by the art, and i'll include it so you can see what the scene actually looks like!
> 
> once again this is very self indulgent. a lot of it probably isn't what the artist had in mind, but if you're reading this scrub i hope u enjoy it anyway! i love these dumb boys you've created, so thank you.
> 
> also, i'm very sorry about the title. i had no idea what to call this.

“West, we gotta have him,” Coach Beckman insisted.

Ryan scowled down at the paper in his hand, not stats or a highlight reel or even a measly recommendation letter, but a goddamn mile time. He had to admit it was fast—4:13—but that didn’t mean this shrimp-looking kid deserved a spot on their varsity team’s starting lineup. His photo made him look like a sissy, and Ryan doubted real life would be much kinder.

“He’s never played a day in his life,” Ryan argued. “He looks like he’s never even thrown a punch before.”

Coach Beckman narrowed his eyes disapprovingly. “And neither should you have.”

Ryan merely shrugged.

“Look, we’ll make a compromise,” Coach Beckman said, because how knew how Ryan operated after three years and counting.

It wasn’t necessarily Ryan’s way or the highway, but Ryan had a complex about football that said he’d protect the high-ranked reputation of his team with a ferocity, even against his own coach if need be. He was captain for a reason. He wanted what was best for his team, always, and that was success. 

But Ryan just barely tilted his head in Coach Beckman’s direction, an indication he was listening. 

“We’re only one game into season,” Coach Beckman said. “We take him on now, train him at regular and extra practices with you and a few others, and if by game four he still can’t catch a football, you win.”

“I win,” Ryan repeated.

Coach Beckman gave him a weary look, like maybe Ryan would soon be the death of him. “Not yet. Now change out.”

+++

“AMANDAAA!” 

Galileo slammed the front door shut behind him, letting his backpack drop the ground instead of hanging it up on the rack against the wall like Mrs. Hartford always insisted. He put his hands on his hips and waited a moment, but when no response came, he huffed and turned to stomp up the stairs. 

He found Amanda at her desk, headphones in, doodling something in a notebook. Her head was bobbing slightly to whatever she was listening to, short brown hair bouncing and swishing. She didn’t see her best friend come in.

“Amanda!” Galileo exclaimed, coming up behind her and yanking the headphones out.

Amanda jumped, whirling around to face her assailant and relaxing when she realized it was Galileo. A split second later, though, she looked on the defensive, like she knew what was coming. 

“Hello, Galileo,” she said formally, subtly leaning away. “Something interesting happen today?”

Galileo narrowed his eyes threateningly before letting out a groan of frustration and falling back onto the bed. “Did you know?” He couldn’t see it, but Galileo knew Amanda grimaced apologetically. 

“Your dad mentioned it to me a few weeks ago,” she admitted. “I didn’t know when it would happen. And I didn’t want you two to have a massive fight over it before anything was even set in stone.”

Galileo got up on his elbows. “Well it’s set in stone now, so am I free to start that massive fight?”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Amanda rolled her eyes, turning back to her notebook to continue doodling. She left her headphones out, which meant Galileo was free to keep being a drama queen.

“I _cannot_ join the _football team_ ,” he said. He was morbidly exasperated. “With Ryan West? It’s going to be the worst year of my life.”

“It won’t be,” Amanda assured, swapping out her black pen for a pink one.

“He’ll hate me,” Galileo insisted. “He’ll think I’m weird, and a loser.”

“Aren’t those two the same thing?” Amanda asked.

Galileo sighed. There was no point arguing about it with Amanda; she hadn’t reached out to the coach. She hadn’t put him in the noose. “I don’t even know when my dad gets home,” he said instead.

Amanda glanced at him over her shoulder and grabbed a blue pen. “Didn’t you say Friday?”

It was Tuesday. Galileo had about three days to figure out what he was going to say to his father that would convince the man that football was not a viable option. It wasn’t a solution, it wasn’t an answer, it wasn’t _anything_. It couldn’t be.

“What about cross country?” Galileo asked, now that his anger and initial shock had worn off enough that he could think clearly. Well, clearer, anyway. “It’s my last year for it, and now it’s gone.”

“You can run on your own time still, you know,” Amanda said. “And there’s still track season, obviously. They can’t keep you in football off-season against your will when there’s a different sport you already play.”

“It seems like they can do anything they want to do,” Galileo grumbled. “I have to start practices with them tomorrow. Coach Beckman said I already have a locker and gear. And a jersey with my name on it.”

“Cute,” Amanda joked. “Galileo Neri, star quarterback. Nice ring to it, huh?”

“I’m not the quarterback,” Galileo said. “That’s Ryan.”

“Whatever,” Amanda said. “Can you be done moping now if you’re planning on hanging out? You’re harping on my good mood.”

Galileo stood up to leave. “Boo-hoo. At least you’re not on the football team.”

“And thank god for that.” 

Galileo exhaled, loudly and dramatically, as he walked back to the door. “How much would it hurt to break something vital, thus permanently crippling myself?”

Amanda snorted and shook her head, not even indulging Galileo enough to look at him. “More trouble than it’s worth. Just think of all the hot, shirtless boys you’ll get to see in the locker room. And the cheerleaders. That’ll get you through it.”

+++

On Wednesday morning, Galileo considered flat-out not going to school. Athlete policy stated that if a student didn’t attend their classes, then they weren’t allowed to attend the day’s sports practice or game either. But Galileo had a Statistics test, and it wasn’t like him to skip school anyway. 

He liked learning, after all. 

Galileo drove his old red CRV to school and reluctantly parked in the back lot, which was adjacent to the football field. There wasn’t really any backing out now, at least not until Friday when Galileo’s father came home and they could sort this mess out.

Galileo felt nervous and dreadful all day; it was impossible to stay focused. He was jittery throughout English Literature, zoned-out during Government/Economics, and irritable in Physics. While Statistics was usually a complete breeze of a class, Galileo found himself struggling through the test problems, and he turned it in a quarter-blank when the bell rang. 

Galileo nearly cried of relief when it was time for lunch. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize—not with his casual friends and not with Amanda—not when he felt this winded-up and not when his nerves were slowly morphing into animosity towards the entire situation. He neatly bypassed his small group of running friends in the cafeteria, heading into the Arts hallway to sit against the lockers and sulk.

It wasn’t like Galileo to feel this short-tempered and on-edge, and he didn’t like it at all. He had no idea how to cope with it or make the feeling go away. Galileo wanted to go back to yesterday before fifth period, before he’d known he was giving up 3-mile races for a running back position on the _football team_. It was slightly humiliating, and he still hadn’t told any of his teammates. Well, former teammates now.

That stung.

Surprisingly, the Arts hallway wasn’t empty. It usually was, which was why Galileo always took solace in it on days he was feeling insecure or that weird kind of half-sad he sometimes got. But today there was a minor commotion at the end of the hallway; a group of people—Galileo could already tell they were popular kids, even without seeing most of their faces—were surrounding something or someone, cheering and goading. 

Galileo skirted closer slowly, not wanting to be noticed, but he figured he wouldn’t be anyway. Even if he tried. Most people at school tended to not notice Galileo with an almost practiced elegance; he was still the odd new kid from England that for some reason didn’t have an accent or a mom.

That was part of the reason Galileo was so surprised he’d managed to catch the attention of the football coach. Football was for the brash, beloved boys of Northvale High School. Not for people like Galileo, who blended in and stuck to the sides and were really more like ghosts.

The reputation he’d gained in the past year was that of the super-smart, sometimes-funny, mostly-awkward and dramatic weirdo runner kid. Galileo had expected it to stay that way.

Sullenly, he turned his attention back to the crowd. There was more yelling now, and then there were teachers, and then bodies were being pushed back and pulled apart. Galileo realized everyone had been watching a fight between some kid from the baseball team and Ryan West.

He stood awkwardly against the lockers a few feet away from the now-broken up fight, unable to keep himself from watching. There weren’t too many fights at Northvale, but when there were, they usually involved Ryan. Galileo didn’t know how he hadn’t been expelled yet, but he figured that the detentions and even a few suspensions made up for it. 

That, and the fact that Ryan already had Division 1 colleges reaching out and offering full-ride scholarships. Northvale couldn’t give him up if they wanted to.

A male teacher Galileo didn’t know was holding Ryan back by the elbows, folded behind his back so that Ryan couldn’t swing again or lunge forward. His dark brown, overgrown undercut was mussed, and his clothes were disheveled; he had blood trailing down his eyebrow, into his eye and over his cheekbone.

Galileo couldn’t stop staring. 

The thing was, Ryan West was _pretty_. He was attractive in the way only few people were, in the way where they almost seemed to glitter and glow. Galileo didn’t know if it was his rosy cheeks or his blue eyes, or that stupid silver hoop he had pierced through the cartilage of his left ear, but he was pretty, and everyone knew it.

But Ryan wasn’t charming. Not in the traditional sense, anyway; he was rude and cutting, smiling only when he made a touchdown, constantly getting into fist-fights and, according to rumor, fooling around with any girl who looked in his direction. And yet, there was something captivating about him.

Galileo had never even spoken to him, but it was enough to admire from afar. He wasn’t ever planning on getting closer than that, anyway. People like Ryan and people like Galileo didn’t interact. That much was certain. Even though they’d be on the same team together, Galileo wanted to stay far away.

It wasn’t clear what the fight had been about—neither boy had spoken since being dragged apart—nor was it clear who had started it, but Galileo could guess. He meant to turn around and leave, just sit in his car until the lunch period was over and he had to go to Ceramics where his vase was probably going to explode in the kiln, but he couldn’t get his feet to move.

Ryan was kind of enchanting with blood streaked across his face.

Galileo felt sort of messed-up about it.

As if the thought cut through the air and towards the culprit of its source, Ryan turned his head to meet Galileo’s gaze. His face was blank for a moment, and then there was a sharp twist of clarity as he realized who Galileo was. 

Then he scowled.

Galileo looked away and left the hallway.

+++

Ryan sat in Coach Beckman’s office, slumped against the fraying armchair and staring resolutely at his hands. The school nurse had cleaned the blood off his face, but his knuckles were still raw, coated in now-dry blood.

He’d missed the rest of lunch and first half of fifth period getting chastised and treated for injury, and when told sternly to go back to class, he’d gone straight to Coach Beckman’s office. Ryan didn’t know why, exactly—he knew he’d only be scolded more—but it was the only place he could think to go. He certainly wasn’t going to sit in English Literature for thirty minutes and pretend to analyze _Pride & Prejudice._

Coach Beckman was on a personal phone call just outside the office door, but he’d informed Ryan not-so-nicely that he’d be back momentarily to berate and interrogate until he felt satisfied with Ryan’s reasoning for getting into _another_ fight.

That’s how he had said it. “ _Another_ fight.” Like he was tired. Ryan was, too.

So Ryan sat in the armchair and stared at his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers until they went numb with the pain. It was better that way; he wouldn’t have to think about it at practice. Not the physical part, anyway.

Coach Beckman did return momentarily, as promised, glancing in Ryan’s direction with a sigh before rounding the desk and taking his own seat. He leaned forward with his hands folded and stared at Ryan, waiting for something Ryan wasn’t going to give him.

Eventually Coach Beckman sighed, again. “Ryan,” he said, and that wasn’t good. Coach Beckman only ever used Ryan’s first name when he was really disappointed in him, and that was far, far worse than anger.

Ryan didn’t look up. “Hm.”

_“Ryan.”_

Now Ryan did look up, eyes blazing. _“What,”_ he demanded through gritted teeth.

“Talk to me,” Coach Beckman said. 

“Okay,” Ryan said flatly. “In art class we’re painting ocean creatures, and I picked a seahorse. Did you know that they mate for life? I didn’t know that. _And_ they’re the slowest swimmers in the entire ocean. But that didn’t surprise me much. Does that surprise you?”

“Christ, you idiot, that’s not what I meant,” Coach Beckman snapped, but he still didn’t sound mad. More frustrated than anything.

“Then what did you mean?” Ryan asked innocently, digging his nails into his palms and feeling the sting in his knuckles again. “There’s nothing else to talk about, at least not that I can think of.”

Coach Beckman closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. He opened them again and tried his best to look calm. Ryan thought it sort-of worked. “You came to me, West. You don’t just take refuge in my office for fun. Now talk to me. I mean it.”

Ryan held Coach Beckman’s stare for about thirty seconds before it became unbearable. Finally he slumped. “I still don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” he said, but this time it was earnest. “I have detention for the next week but they’re still letting me play.”

“I’m aware,” Coach Beckman said. “I want to know what it was about this time.”

“Isn’t it about the same thing every time?” Ryan asked.

Coach Beckman was silent for a moment. “Ignore them,” he said decidedly. “I know it bothers you, but it isn’t true, and using violence as an escape from your anger isn’t the answer.”

“I’m not using it as an escape,” Ryan said. “Fighting only makes me angier. But I can’t stop.”

“You can,” Coach Beckman said, like it was that easy. Maybe it was, but Ryan didn’t know. “What I mean is, it isn’t an outlet. It isn’t the right path to take. You know this.”

“Sure,” Ryan mumbled. He didn’t know what else to say. He was sort of regretting picking Coach Beckman over Jane Austen, and that was a bold statement.

Coach Beckman seemed to realize he wouldn’t be getting anything else out of Ryan until the next thing happened, so he shook his head and started shuffling the papers on his desk. “I’ve got a quick errand to run before practice starts, so hang out here and don’t touch anything.”

Ryan nodded and looked back down. “Uh-huh.”

Coach Beckman stood up and grabbed a folder off the desk. “Neri starts today. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten.”

“No,” Ryan said. “I’m sure I haven’t.”

Ryan bet that Coach Beckman rolled his eyes. He walked to the door and pulled it open, his keys jingling as he clipped them to his belt loop. “Hey,” he said, and Ryan turned to face him. “For God’s sake, wash your hands.”

+++

Galileo trekked out of the locker room after his new teammates. He felt stupid and awkward in his padding and practice jersey— _#30_ —but everyone else was wearing the same thing, so at least there was that.

Ryan hadn’t been in the locker room changing out with everyone else, and Galileo didn’t know if that had to do with the fight earlier or something else entirely. Maybe he wouldn’t even be at practice; maybe he’d been temporarily suspended from football. Galileo could hope.

His vase _had_ in fact exploded in the kiln, and Galileo was still annoyed about it. Those air pockets always bested him. It had been an ugly vase anyway, one he was making for Amanda because he didn’t know who else to make it for, but now it was gone and that was just as upsetting as its previously-malformed shape. _Whatever_ , Galileo thought. _I have bigger problems._

Problems, being that he was seriously on the football team. He really was. For the next two days, anyway. The team hadn’t spoken to him in the locker room, but they’d eyed him suspiciously and a few had snickered when he got confused by the straps of his padding, but it wasn’t so bad. Galileo convinced himself it wasn’t.

They walked down to the field, and Galileo was discontented to see Ryan in uniform, standing off to the side talking to Coach Beckman. So he hadn’t been banned, then.

Hope was a fleeting thing.

Ryan looked up at the team’s approach, the outer edge of his eye gloriously bruised now. He had a sick gleam in his eye; Galileo had a feeling Ryan wouldn’t go easy on him just because it was his first day and he’d never touched a football in his life. 

Coach Beckman started the practice with a meeting, immediately singling Galileo out for being new and asking him to introduce himself. Galileo wanted to stay silent and glare, but he didn’t have it in him. That was so the opposite of his personality.

He crossed his arms self-consciously, very much more in-character. “I’m Galileo,” he said. What else was he supposed to say?

Someone snorted and Galileo shrunk into himself. He heard someone faintly mutter something about _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , and when Galileo turned his gaze to Ryan, the captain was frowning with a raised eyebrow. 

“Tell them your mile time,” Coach Beckman said. “It’s quite impressive.”

Galileo shook his head feebly. “No, that’s alright. It’s not important.”

“It’s pretty damn important to me,” Coach Beckman said. “That’s why I put you on the team at all.”

Galileo could feel himself blushing furiously. He couldn’t get himself to look back at Ryan, but he could sense Ryan’s hard stare on him. “It’s sub-five,” he said.

“It’s 4:13,” Coach Beckman said, and though everyone did look impressed, Galileo still felt preyed upon.

“Yeah,” he said. He wasn’t going to say anything else about it. 

Ryan huffed. “Anyway,” he said impatiently. “While that’s all very astounding, we’ve still got a lot of work to do.” He slid Galileo a cool look, but it was filled with disdain. “Obviously.”

Galileo tried to lay low for the rest of practice. He listened to all of Ryan’s instructions about how they’d run practice, and he tried his best to follow along with the warm-ups and drills they did. When it was time to work on passing, Galileo dropped every single ball. It was embarrassing, but by the time the teammate he was practicing with gave up on him, Galileo was more bitter than anything.

He shouldn’t have had to be going through this.

Ryan approached him at some point nearing the end of practice, face set in his ever-present glower. “Are you blind, or just incapable?” he snapped. He shot a hard look towards his other teammate, who rolled his eyes but put his hands up in surrender and walked off to do drills with his other, more competent teammates. 

Galileo glared back, and felt odd doing it; he was typically a smiler, but Ryan was difficult to be sunshiney around. “Neither. I’m a runner.”

“Then go run laps for the rest of practice,” Ryan said hotly. “Clearly you can’t do anything else.”

Galileo didn’t waste his breath responding. He was happy to run; it was what he wanted to be doing in the first place. The burn in his lungs was a welcome feeling, his legs carrying him with ease around the track. _This_ was how he wanted to spend the school year—not tossing around a football like a meathead.

But he couldn’t have this. Not right now, anyway.

Around his ninth lap, Galileo became aware that some of his teammates were watching him. They were still practicing and doing exercises, but they were also glancing over excessively. Most likely scoffing at how terrible he was at football that he’d already been sent to run as punishment.

Whatever. Galileo loved this punishment.

When Coach Beckman blew his whistle, Galileo slowed his pace until he was stopped completely, then turned and jogged back to where the team was gathering. Coach Beckman was eyeing him with a look Galileo couldn’t quite place. The rest of the team was staring as well, but trying to make it seem like they weren’t. Ryan was openly not-staring, disinterested as ever as he examined his bruised knuckles. 

“Neri,” Coach Beckman said after a few more seconds.

“Yeah?”

“How far did you just run?”

Galileo shrugged. He’d sort of lost count of the laps. “Around four miles, maybe. Not much.”

“Not much,” someone repeated, snorting in amusement. “Jesus.”

“Pretty fast, yes?” Coach Beckman asked the team. “So he’s proved at least one thing. I expect better attitudes tomorrow.” The boys shifted awkwardly. “I want a _Yes, Coach_ ,” Coach Beckman said when no one answered.

“Yes, Coach,” everyone chorused in mumbles. Everyone except for Ryan.

Galileo wondered how Ryan was so popular when he was such a jerk. Aside from being talented at football, he seemed to have no other redeeming qualities. Except for his looks, of course, but Galileo pushed that thought away. That couldn’t overrule his terrible personality. It would be so disheartening to hear that everyone knew he was a massive jerk and still loved him just because he was attractive.

Practice had sucked, but at least Coach Beckman had stood up for him, in his own blunt way. That was why everyone had been watching him run, then. Galileo tried not to think about it, anyway; he didn’t want to care what these teammates thought about him. They were stupid jocks, and their opinions were even more useless than they themselves were.

The boys were dismissed, and everyone headed back to the locker room to shower and change. Galileo hated the idea of showering with the football team, but he wasn’t about to get into his newly-washed car sweating and smelling like he did. 

Ryan trailed behind the rest of the team, looking deep in thought, probably about some girl he was going to hook up with later or about the fight and the next one he wanted to start. God, Galileo already felt himself spiraling into an overthinking, obsessive mindset, and it was only the first day of practice, the first day of _many_ hanging around Ryan West.

He needed to get a grip, and he needed his father to come home. 

Galileo tried not to let his eyes wander while he showered—he didn’t want to be _that_ creep. And he wasn’t in the closet about being bisexual, but it wasn’t like he was popular enough for most people to know, either. Getting caught staring wasn’t how Galileo wanted the team to find out. Even so, it was difficult not to look. At least a little. All the boys were slender and toned, and though most weren’t his type, a few were.

And at the end of the day, a nice body was a nice body.

Galileo put his head under the spray and squeezed his eyes shut. 

This was going to be difficult. He was so close to his running friends that they were like brothers, and he didn’t feel a single ounce of attraction towards any of them. Football players were different, though; they were idiots, sure, but they were hot idiots. 

Galileo hated it a little.

He finished his shower and got changed, only allowing his eyes to linger on Ryan’s thin, muscled spine and his broader shoulders for a split second. Then he determinately focused on shutting his locker and stuffing his deodorant back into his bag. He grabbed his t-shirt off the bench and slid his arms in, twisting it over his head and down his torso as he turned around to put his shoes on.

He caught Ryan’s eye when he did, and Ryan was glaring heatedly. 

_Pretty_ , Galileo thought, _but not worth it._

He slipped on his shoes without untying the laces, slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving the locker room as quickly as possible. The air was frigid, just cool enough that Galileo wished he had a hoodie. Mid-September was certainly proving the arrival of fall weather. Galileo’s wet hair brushed his ears and the nape of his neck, making him even colder. 

He got into his car and slammed the door, finally letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Senior year was going to be awful.

+++

Ryan shut the front door behind himself, toeing off his shoes and hanging his car keys on the hook over the entrance table. He hoisted his duffel further up his shoulder, peering around the house, unsure if anyone was home. There was no car in the driveway, but it could’ve been in the garage. And Rosalie wouldn’t be home again until Thanksgiving. 

He quietly padded across the entryway and up the stairs, keeping his footsteps light on the wood and then locking his bedroom door once he was inside. He dropped his duffel at the foot of his bed and then collapsed into said bed.

Practice had been exhausting, to say the least. Mentally, not physically. The entire day had been mentally exhausting, really. Ryan’s hand and face hurt, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but he had a Physics test on Friday and was multiple chapters behind on _Pride & Prejudice_. Ryan didn’t even know what was going on in his other classes, so he didn’t waste energy dwelling on it. 

He’d have to deal with it later, like he’d have to deal with a lot of things later.

Ryan was always telling himself that: _I’ll deal with it later_. But he never really did. He just bottled it up and let it build and build, and then when someone said the wrong thing, he hit them. And then it started all over again.

So far, that was working out fine. Ryan didn’t mind detention so much. As long as he could still play football. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the dozens of texts he’d gotten just since practice got out. Most were from teammates, talking shit about the new kid or asking if anyone had sent him the homework yet for Statistics or Government/Economics. Ryan ignored most of them, but replied to one from a girl, Leah, who had invited him to a party she was throwing on Friday. 

Leah was nice and nice to look at, and they had kissed after all, so Ryan said he’d be there and then deleted the message thread. 

There were no texts from his mother or from anyone he actually cared to respond to, so he opened up a game and let himself get lost in the mindlessness of it. It was Ryan’s favorite thing to do, really, aside from play football—not think. Incredibly boring or incredibly violent things were the best way to pass time, in Ryan’s opinion. Things that made him not feel, and things that made him feel things he was fine with feeling.

Eventually Ryan’s thumb got sore from playing the game for so long, so he turned his phone off all the way and tossed it to the foot of his bed. He thought about his backpack sitting on the floor a couple feet away, about his books inside of it and how they demanded his attention. Then he thought about his pillow and his tired eyes, and his mother and whether she was in her room down the hall or if she was out. 

Ryan closed his eyes and went to sleep.

+++

He woke up a few hours later. The sky, which had been dim when he fell asleep, was now completely dark. Ryan sat up on an elbow and peered at the alarm clock on his nightstand; it was nearly nine o’clock. He’d slept for three hours.

Groggily, Ryan got out of bed and turned his light on, yanking off his hoodie—he always got overheated when he slept—and pushing his hair off his forehead. It was getting kind of long, falling over his buzzed sides which were also growing out, but he was too lazy to get it cut. Besides, when he’d made out with Leah a few weeks ago before school had started up again, she’d tugged on it, and it had felt kind of good.

Lately it was seeming like Ryan’s entire life was _kind of_ everything. 

He turned off his light and shuffled down the hall and down the stairs, turning on lights as he went so the house didn’t feel so lonely. There was unopened mail scattered across the countertop in the kitchen; Ryan knew there would be college letters for him, offers to play with a full-ride, but he ignored the pile and went straight to the fridge, rooting around inside until he found something healthy he could eat. 

He shoved the mail towards the edge of the counter and sat up on it, eating some veggie stir fry that wasn’t very good, but it was food, so it didn’t matter. When he was finished he stared at the clock on the opposite wall of the kitchen and counted the ticks up to 60 and back down, over and over again for about seven minutes.

Then he called, “Mom?”

There was no response.

+++

Thursday came and went, practice just about as bad as it had been on Wednesday. Galileo was sore in a way he wasn’t usually, not accustomed to working certain muscles football required that running didn’t. He’d still yet to catch a ball, but at least he’d earned a fraction of respect for his speed.

He got his Statistics test back that day, too—Mr. Lilton was the fastest grading teacher Galileo had ever had—and was mildly upset when he saw the bright red _B_ at the top. His lowest grade since sophomore year, and that was in London where school was arguably harder. He had to remake his vase in Ceramics too, and this time it didn’t explode. He gave it to Amanda and she laughed excessively—it was even uglier than the first one—but nonetheless she put a flower in it and placed it on her windowsill.

Galileo went to practice on Friday, anxious not for the practice itself but because he knew his father would be back from his business trip by the time Galileo got home himself. He hated confrontation, especially with family, but it was necessary.

Galileo was never going to be a football star; there was no point in trying.

There was a game in a week, but he didn’t think he’d be playing. Coach Beckman hadn’t mentioned anything about it yet, so Galileo wasn’t going to worry. If he did have to play, it would only hurt the team’s chances of winning, and it would only be _their_ fault. He’d never asked to be on their stupid team anyway, playing their stupid dumb sport.

Besides, Galileo barely knew the rules yet. There was no way he could hold his own in a game, even with teammates at his back.

Galileo wasn’t normally this negative; he knew this, distantly, but football was bringing out the worst in him. He snorted at the thought, knowing it was pathetic and dramatic. Amanda was right—he really could be a drama queen sometimes.

Ryan still hadn’t warmed up to him in the slightest. If anything, he’d gotten more hostile. He didn’t say as many mean things, but it was only because he wasn’t really speaking to Galileo at all. He only did when he was forced to to give instructions, or if Galileo did something particularly pathetic. 

Ryan’s black eye was about as bad as it was going to get, deep purple so dark it was almost black closest to his eye, and yellowing-green around the outer edges. He looked wildly attractive like that.

Galileo did witness, however, a rare Ryan West smile. Only once, when someone had made a crude remark in the locker room and Ryan’s mouth had twisted into something sort of sardonic and self-deprecating—at least that was how it had seemed to Galileo, but he didn’t think he was that good at reading people. Especially Ryan, who was as much of a mystery as he was a closed book. 

It wasn’t a _nice_ smile—it wasn’t even really a smile at all, but it was about as close to one as Ryan got off the field. Galileo thought about the expression a lot, unable to dissect its strangeness. 

Right before practice ended, Galileo caught a ball that was passed to him. He fumbled it a second later and dropped it, but it was the best he’d done thus far. The teammates he was playing with jokingly cheered and they tried again, but to no avail. It had been a fluke.

“Monday you’ll actually hold onto it,” Carter said. “I’m speaking it into existence.” 

Carter Lucas was a quarterback who’d been training with Galileo since he’d joined the team, and he was nice enough. Galileo thought he was alright; much better than the others. Much better than _Ryan._

Galileo laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.”

“Don’t be lame, man,” Carter said, gathering all of the footballs they’d been using and dumping them into a net bag. “You can only suck this bad for so long before you start just accidentally catching the ball.”

Galileo jogged towards some further balls to help him. He brought them over and put them into the bag. “I guess,” he said. He wanted to make a joke, just to say something that would make him feel less out of place, but he couldn’t think of anything Carter might laugh at.

Carter shrugged. “Just keep trying.” With that he knotted the bag shut and walked off towards the rest of the practice equipment. 

Galileo sat down on the grass to stretch out a little before Coach whistled for practice to officially end. He still had no idea what he was going to say to his father. He didn’t think his father was the kind of man to budge on something like this, anyway, but he had to try. Football had always been _his_ dream, not Galileo’s, but that seemed to matter little.

Suddenly another body was looming over his, and Galileo looked up, squinting through the sunlight. It was Ryan, eyebrows drawn together sharply, the light glinting off his earring. His hair was tousled and sweaty, helmet tucked under an arm.

Galileo stared. “Hi?”

“You caught the ball,” Ryan said. His voice wasn’t nice and it wasn’t mean; it was just a bland statement, tone dull as ever. 

Galileo cocked his head. “Yeah. Then I dropped it.”

Ryan waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. It’s the least stupid thing you’ve done since Wednesday.”

Galileo couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or not, so he just said, “Uh-huh.”

“We’re practicing tomorrow, me and you and a few others,” Ryan said then, disdainfully. “Coach wants you to do extra practices for the next few weeks to get caught up. I have the honor of running them. Game four, you’re in. So nine AM, Saturday.”

“I won’t be on the team by then,” Galileo said, ignoring the sarcasm. “I’m going to quit.”

Ryan made a face, like Galileo was stupid. “No, you’re not. Coach wants you on the team. Besides, it’s not like you can get any worse than you already are.”

“I thought you hated me,” Galileo said. “Why are you trying to keep me on the team?”

“I do,” Ryan said, “and I’m not. Coach wants you here, so you’re staying. If you’re still this hopelessly bad by game four, _then_ you’re out. Fair?”

Galileo felt himself frown; he didn’t _mean_ to do it, but he did it anyway. “Not really,” he said. “I hate football. I shouldn’t have to be here.”

“Tough,” Ryan said. “I love it, and you’re making it unenjoyable. Either get better, or indulge everyone enough to stick around until you inevitably leave. It’s a few weeks, Neri. I don’t like you here either.”

Galileo thought about it. If he got kicked off, there was nothing his father could do. It was about as good as this whole thing was going to get. “Okay,” he agreed eventually. “Sorry that I’m ruining it.” He meant it, too. Ryan seemed so unhappy all the time that Galileo was beginning to wonder if that was really Ryan’s disposition, or if it was _his_ fault Ryan was out of sorts.

Ryan just shook his head and walked away. 

+++

Telling Galileo to stay had been about the most painful thing Ryan had had to do all week.

What he really wanted to do was beg Galileo to leave. He was invading the one safe space Ryan had, the one place he could let loose and have fun. He was everywhere Ryan looked, sucking spectacularly, looking at a football like it was an alien, prancing around on his stupidly long legs, just looking like a goddamn idiot. _All the time._

Ryan was tired. He wanted to go home and sleep himself into oblivion, again, but he’d promised Leah he’d be at her party and he kind of really felt like getting drunk now that he thought about it. That was an oblivion, too, and Ryan would take it where he could get it.

He showered and went home, changing into Dickies that were fraying at the bottom. Leah had mentioned once that reddish-orange made his ice-blue eyes look nice, so he put on a flannel that seemed like it had those colors in it and slipped his shoes back on. The party wasn’t supposed to start for another two hours, but Ryan needed to buy something to eat since the fridge was empty. Then he was going to head to Leah’s house early.

She’d asked him to, so he’d said yes.

He got a salad at this local vegan joint, wolfing it down quickly and leaving. He hated eating in public, especially alone. He checked his phone then; it was 7:02, and he had a text from Leah.

 **Leah:** _on ur way? :)_

Ryan opened it up and stared at it for a moment. He got into his car and put the key in the ignition, strapping his seatbelt on and then glancing at the text again. _Yeah <3_ he texted back. Girls liked sweet little gestures like emoticon hearts. Ryan thought so, anyway.

He tossed his phone into the cupholder and backed out of the parking space, maneuvering out of the complex and back onto the road. Leah’s house wasn’t far—Auburn wasn’t big enough for anything to be far—so he got there quickly. He parked in the driveway, next to her white Honda Accord. 

He’d only just rung the doorbell when Leah opened the door, her long blonde hair falling silkily over her shoulders. She was wearing a short denim skirt, a dark green tank top and strappy sandals. Ryan eyed her chest and legs and then looked back up at her face. She was smiling.

“Hi,” she said, and stepped back to let him in.

Ryan smiled back—it felt weird on his face—and came inside. He gave her a hug and then followed her into the living room which was connected to the kitchen.

“Want anything to drink?” Leah asked.

Ryan peered across the kitchen at the counter. There was just about every kind of alcohol he could think of, and chasers ranging from orange juice to lime juice. He didn’t think he wanted to be wasted before everyone else was even at the party, though.

“I’m good,” he said. “You look pretty.”

Leah smiled shyly and stepped closer. “You do too. Nice flannel. Makes your eyes look even prettier.”

Ryan snorted, his hand automatically finding its way to her skinny waist and drawing her in a little more. “Boys can’t be pretty.”

“They can!” Leah giggled. She wrapped a hand around the side of Ryan’s neck; she smelled like flowers. “You are.”

Ryan still didn’t think boys could be pretty; boys were—well, they were _something_ , obviously, every human was, but they weren’t _pretty_. He didn’t say that though. He just leaned in and kissed her. She kissed back right away, like she’d been waiting for it. 

Ryan’s body took over on autopilot, and before long his tongue was in her mouth and he was crowding her against the counter. She was breathing heavily when they pulled apart for a second, green eyes dazzling. 

“I really like you,” Leah said, smiling a little.

Ryan kissed her again. 

“Wanna go to my room?” Leah asked a few minutes later. She was gripping his hip now with one hand, the other curled into his hair. She was tugging it again, the way Ryan liked.

Ryan nodded and she grabbed his hand to pull him out of the kitchen and down the hallway, into the room they’d made out in a few weeks ago during the summer. The walls were white but covered in Polaroid photos of her and her friends, and other shit like flowers and sunsets. It was a typical boring girl room.

Leah closed the door and locked it behind them.

“Is there anyone else home?” Ryan asked, glancing at the lock.

“No,” Leah shook her head, grazing a thumb down his cheek to bring his attention back. “Just locking it in case. How’s your eye?”

“It’s alright,” Ryan said, shrugging. He didn’t feel like talking about it. Leah had already asked what the fight had been about, and Ryan hadn’t texted her back.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but Ryan connected their lips again and pushed her onto the bed. They made out for a little longer, and then Leah was pulling away with doe eyes and flushed cheeks. She brushed a hand over his hip and down his thigh. “Want me to do something?”

Ryan stared down at her dumbly for a moment, holding himself up on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush her smaller frame. She looked rather beautiful like this, but he didn’t say that. “Um,” he said eloquently instead. “You don’t have to, I’m—” He stopped. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, that’s cool.”

Leah smiled and slid out from under him. Ryan turned to sit on the edge of the bed, unsure what to do with his hands. He was kind of hard. It would feel nice. Leah really was a pretty girl, and she was very sweet. He watched as she got down to her knees and worked his button open and pulled his zipper down. Ryan raised his hips to help her get his pants and boxers out of the way.

He tangled a hand into her hair and closed his eyes.

+++

Galileo’s father was unpacking when he got home from football practice. He was going back and forth between his suitcase and his closet and his dresser; the room was a wreck.

“Dad,” Galileo said, standing in the doorway, his hair still wet from his locker room shower where it had been an enormous struggle not to pop a boner. 

Jared Neri was a man in his forties, with dusty, almost ginger-brown hair like Galileo’s, and the same freckles smattered across his cheeks and nose. His eyes were a darker hazel than his son’s, but Galileo had gotten those from his mother. Jared turned around at the sound of Galileo’s voice and smiled brightly.

“Hey there!” he said, and Galileo met him halfway for a hug.

“How was the trip?” Galileo asked.

Jared was a businessman for some football-related company, and he had to travel a lot for the job. He’d been in England this most recent time, where, coincidentally, Galileo’s mother was from. Jared had stopped to see some of their family while he’d been out there; it wasn’t too often he went overseas for trips.

“Busy, as you know,” Jared said, heading back to his luggage to continue unpacking. “Got to see your aunts and uncles, though, so that was a nice little break. How’s everything here? How’s Amanda?”

“She’s fine. I think she’s at some girl’s party or something tonight,” Galileo said, avoiding the first question.

Jared nodded. “Hm, good. But how are things?”

Galileo couldn’t sidestep it again. His father was asking specifically about football, not just about things. “Okay,” he said uneasily. “I wish you would’ve told me.”

“You would’ve fought me,” Jared said.

Galileo shrugged and sat on the bed. “I’m fighting you now.”

“Very persuasive,” Jared laughed. “Very intense.”

Now Galileo rolled his eyes. “You suck, dad.” Then more seriously, “I’m really bad at football. The captain hates me, I’m pretty sure the Coach barely tolerates me even though he wants me on the team, and I haven’t even caught a ball yet.”

“You’ll get better,” Jared said with a certainty Galileo wished he could match. “You’re extremely fast, and the rest will come with some more practice. It’s been three days, Gali.”

Galileo frowned and grumbled something unintelligible, a complaint. “I guess,” he said.

“I _know_.”

They didn’t say anything else on the matter, and Galileo knew he’d have to stick it out until game four when he failed so spectacularly they’d be forced to kick him off the team. He couldn’t wait. He followed his father downstairs and they ate dinner together—penne pasta—and then Galileo did his homework and watched TV for awhile. He went for a run, and then he came home, showered again, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

+++

Everyone wanted to talk to Ryan.

He wanted to sit in a corner and drink until his insides were numb, but socializing was okay when he was buzzed. It wasn’t so intolerable. 

People were asking about the season and what he thought about the new kid being on the team. Ryan said that he knew they’d win CIF, again, and that the new kid was less than mediocre and he’d be off the team in a matter of weeks.

Ryan was charismatic when he had a little alcohol in his system. He could be charismatic other times, too, but he didn’t particularly want to be. He was too stressed out and upset all the time to feel like being nice to people he didn’t really care about, but they cared about him, so he had to pretend to care back.

Being popular was such an odd thing. 

Leah had stuck to his side for a little before wandering off to hang out with her own friends, which Ryan was fine with. They’d had enough alone time anyway. 

Someone was saying Ryan’s name insistently, so he tuned back in. It was Jackson Everman, one of the football team’s linebackers. Ryan was surrounded by a group of people, most of them his teammates, but also some other random people.

“Yeah,” he said. “What?”

“We’re talking about that Galileo Galilei kid. He fucking sucks. I don’t know what Coach sees in him.”

Ryan found himself saying, “He’s fast,” before he could stop himself.

Jackson made a confused face. “You hate him more than all of us,” he snorted. 

It was interesting that they thought that. Ryan didn’t _like_ Galileo, not even close, but he didn’t hate him, either. He didn’t think he really hated anyone. He’d never even said he hated Galileo, but Ryan knew that no one on the team knew him quite as well as they thought they did; they couldn’t read him very accurately. Hate was a strong word. 

“Yeah,” Ryan said, because he didn’t want to _deny_ it. “But Coach really wants him on the team. If he can learn to catch a ball, he’d be a good player, with his speed.”

“Technically,” another teammate piped up. This time it was Seth Greenland. “He’s too skinny. And he looks like a fucking nerd.”

“He is,” Ryan said, because it was true. It wasn’t really an insult if it was true. “But he’s skinny ‘cause he’s a runner. He’ll get some muscle in a few weeks.”

“It’s like you _want_ him to be on the team,” someone else said, and this time Ryan didn’t even bother looking to see who it was.

“I don’t,” he said. “I think he’s stupid and annoying, and he’s an embarrassment to the game. But Coach wants him on the fucking team, and I’m trying to make the best of the situation. And I’m also trying to get drunk and have fun, so shut up and stop talking about the pipsqueak.”

That ended the conversation abruptly, and they turned to discussing which girls they were thinking of asking to the upcoming Homecoming dance. Ryan said Leah when they asked, and they all groaned and moaned about how hot and sexy she was, how lucky Ryan was to be hooking up with her.

“Uh-huh,” Ryan agreed. “She blew me earlier.”

“Was she good?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Obviously. Have you seen her? She looks good on her knees.”

He’d heard his friends say things like this before. He was kind of just repeating them, like a parrot. He didn’t think anyone really looked good on their knees; it was a weird position, but it had felt good, so he said so.

They talked about blowjobs for the next ten minutes, and Ryan tried not to zone out out of sheer boredom. He didn’t really feel like talking about something so personal with them anyway, and in such depth. Seth even had a video of himself getting one from another one of Leah’s friends.

Ryan left when that started playing, wandering off to get another drink and find Leah or just anyone to talk to that wasn’t on the football team. It wasn’t difficult; people were attracted to Ryan like a magnet, even though he was sure he radiated negative energy. Still, people flocked like geese. He ended up on the couch surrounded by some cheerleaders, Leah and some of the soccer team guys, telling football stories from their summer training camp in San Diego. 

There was the time Carter flipped off the balcony and into the hotel pool, and that other time Jackson and Seth snuck into a club with their fake IDs and met some hot college girls they apparently went home with, though Ryan kind of doubted that part of it. They were alright stories, but he told them like they were the best stories in the world.

And it was all fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading :) comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. love u!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not really sure what posting schedule is gonna be like for this, i'm kind of an erratic writer but if people start reading this i'll try to be consistent and figure something out! these first two chapters and part of the third are what i already have written, but i just wanted to split it up so it made more sense with chapters.
> 
> happy reading!

“I need a headband,” Galileo announced, barging into Amanda’s room at 8:30 AM on Saturday morning. Mrs. Hartford had let him in. “The stretchy kind that soccer players wear. I have practice.”

Amanda lifted her head from where it was smushed into the pillow and made a terrible face, groaning. “Dude. It is so goddamn early. What are you doing?”

“I have practice,” Galileo repeated. “Coach is making me do extra and Ryan is in charge of them, so I have to go. Do you have a headband I can borrow, or…?”

Amanda mumbled something incoherent and motioned towards her dresser before letting her head fall back into the bed. Galileo gave her a weird look she couldn’t see before walking to the dresser and rifling through her various hair accessories until he found a stretchy black headband. He wrapped it around his wrist and walked to the door.

“Are you dead?” he asked Amanda.

Amanda made a noise into the pillow and then rolled over. “Just hungover. You really came here just for a headband?”

Galileo ignored that. “Oh, yeah,” he said instead. He had forgotten. “How was Leah’s?”

“Fine,” Amanda said, pulling her blankets up. “Your favorite pretty boy was there.”

Galileo wrinkled his nose. He wished he didn’t automatically know who Amanda was talking about. “Don’t call him that.”

“What else would I call him?”

Galileo gave her an unimpressed look. “I’m leaving. Don’t die while I’m gone or we’ll never get to hang out again.”

“Can’t promise anything,” Amanda said, and closed her eyes again.

Ryan was waiting for Galileo on the field, standing with her arms crossed and his classic glare tainting his otherwise perfect features. Then again, he still looked hot even while giving dirty looks.

Galileo shook his head at the thought.

The other guys at the practice—Carter, Jackson and Seth—were in the middle of the field, setting up some sort of drill with cones. Galileo already knew he’d loathe the next few hours.

“What’s in your hair?” Ryan asked with a frown.

Galileo reached up to touch his curls, fingertips sliding over the cotton material of the headband. “It’s a headband,” he said stupidly. “It’s my friend’s.”

“You have friends?” Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Galileo thought he should definitely be offended, and he sort of was, but he nodded anyway. “Uh-huh. Amanda Hartford. She was at Leah’s last night.”

“Oh,” Ryan said. “Forehead bangs? Kinda streaky hair?” 

He didn’t seem put off by the fact that Galileo knew he’d been at the party; it had to be because he didn’t realize that meant Galileo and Amanda had talked about him. Otherwise, he’d probably be weirded out.

The hair comment sounded kind of like an insult, but the actual way in which Ryan said it didn’t. It sounded like a genuine question, so Galileo allowed it with getting defensive on behalf of his best friend. “Yeah. We’ve known each other since we were little.”

Ryan studied him with distaste for a drawn-out moment before clucking his tongue. “Makes sense, I guess,” he said. And then, “You’re late.”

Galileo looked down at his watch, nonplussed. It was 8:59. “I’m not,” he said. “I was early.”

“Whatever,” Ryan said, and stalked away from him.

Galileo followed dumbly. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Ryan’s mood was even worse early in the morning; he was just glad they didn’t have any classes together. When they got to where the other boys were, they raised reluctant hands in greeting and then they all listened to Ryan explain the drill they’d be doing. It was designed to help Galileo be able to catch a ball without dropping it while also jogging around obstacles.

“I can’t even catch the ball while standing in one spot,” Galileo pointed out.

“I know,” Ryan said. “Stop arguing and just do it.”

Galileo complied; it wasn’t like he had another choice. He liked the jogging aspect of the drill, but it was awkward skirting around the cones, not freeing the way normal running was. And he definitely wasn’t able to catch any of the balls Carter and Seth tossed his way; the two boys weren’t even that far away, but it was still impossible. After a few runs of the drill with no success, Ryan stopped them.

“How is it even possible to be this much of a failure?” he asked.

Galileo frowned, a small kind of hurt blooming in his chest. He didn’t want to be bothered by some dumb jock’s low blow, but he’d always had kind of a frail ego. There were still insecurities left over from being bullied in elementary school, it seemed. 

“I’m trying,” he muttered. He _was._

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Jackson piped up.

“What have you done?” Galileo accused. Jackson had just been standing there for thirty minutes doing nothing at all.

“I’m here because Coach said I had to be,” Jackson sneered. “But I won’t play sissy football with you. Learn to catch, learn to throw, and then I’ll fucking play with you.”

Galileo swallowed and looked away, and tried not to feel like the world’s biggest idiot. He really hated himself at that exact moment. “Okay, let's do it again. I’ll try harder.”

He wouldn’t look at Ryan or Jackson for the next forty-five minutes as they did slightly different variations of that same drill, Carter and Seth still tossing the ball. Galileo managed to catch it twice, but no one cheered or smiled or said good job. They just kept going like it hadn’t happened, and Ryan’s frown only grew more and more.

“Okay, stop,” he said again when Galileo began to get clumsier. “Take a break. Get water.”

“I’m gonna run a lap,” Galileo said, because all he wanted to do was escape from these boys. 

“I said take a break,” Ryan snapped.

“And I said I’m gonna run a lap,” Galileo repeated, and took off before Ryan could stop him.

He was running away from the four boys for the first quarter of the lap, and while he did he let tears spring to his eyes and slide down his cheeks. Galileo despised how he was living up to his drama queen stereotype, but he was upset. He felt so disliked and he didn’t know how to deal with it. It wasn’t just his lack of skill the boys hated; they seemed to hate him too, as a person, and Galileo didn’t know why.

When he rounded the second turn of the lap, he’d stopped crying; he had to, or the boys might’ve been able to tell, even from the middle of the field. They were standing in a diamond shape talking, but they all turned to watch as Galileo ran that length of the track. When he rounded the third corner, he side-eyed them. They weren’t talking anymore.

“Took you fucking long enough,” Jackson said when Galileo jogged back up to them.

“It took me a minute and a half,” Galileo said, confused as he checked his watch to be sure he was right. He was.

Seth snorted but quickly hid his grin when Jackson glared at him. 

“Whatever,” Jackson said. “Get water so you don’t pass out and die. I don’t want to have to lug your skinny ass off the field.”

Galileo actually listened to him, not because he wanted to, but because he really was thirsty. He walked back to where the drill was set up after, and the boys followed.

“You’ve caught the ball like, three times now,” Carter said. “You can do it again, c’mon.”

Carter was definitely the nicest in the group, Galileo thought, and the most optimistic. Ryan was moody, Seth let his friends act like jerks while standing by dispassionately, and Jackson was just plain evil. At least Carter spoke to Galileo like a human with feelings.

And he did catch the ball a few more times. Not more than he dropped them, but definitely more than he’d caught in the past four days combined. By the end of it Ryan looked more thoughtful than disappointed, and Galileo counted that as a win.

“Do we have to practice again tomorrow?” he asked as they were walking back to their bags.

“No, moron,” Ryan said, hitching his bag over his shoulder. “It’s Sunday. I’m sleeping in. And don’t wear that headband again. You look stupid it in, and we’re not soccer players.”

Galileo shrugged and mumbled an _okay._ He wasn’t in the mood to argue over something so pointless and trivial. They split up in the parking lot without saying _goodbye_ or _see you later_ , Ryan’s lot going one way and Galileo going the other.

Galileo got into his car and closed his eyes. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel with a soft thud and tried his hardest not to cry.

+++

Ryan could be wrong, but he was pretty sure he’d seen Galileo get into his car and curl in on himself like a desolate child.

It wasn’t that he’d been watching, or looking back or anything. He had glanced around the parking lot at the sound of something else, and happened to spot Galileo through the passenger door window of his car, head on the steering wheel, shoulders tense.

He was probably just tired, and sore. That made the most sense. Ryan didn’t think it would make sense at all for Galileo to be upset about practice or about anything. He had no reason—he was smart and had a best friend he could compete to a sister, and he told obnoxiously stupid jokes sometimes to anyone who would listen. Galileo didn’t have a single thing to be crying about.

Ryan did, and Ryan wasn’t crying.

He pushed the image of Galileo out of his mind and took a nap as soon as he got home. Carter and Jackson had wanted to hang out—Seth couldn’t as he was technically grounded for sneaking out to Leah’s party the night before and getting caught—but Ryan wasn’t really up to spending more time with any them that day than he already had.

They felt more like cronies than friends sometimes. Ryan wasn’t even sure if he considered them friends in his own mind, but he thought he wanted to. At least he thought that he wished he did. But it was irrelevant because he didn’t; he hung out with them at lunch and at football practice and at parties and anywhere else people went and did things with other people, but that was it. Sometimes he couldn’t stand them, even.

He thought about how the morning’s practice had gone, after he woke up from his nap. He stared blearily at the wall, his brain coming back into focus sluggishly and replaying the events, from seeing Galileo in that stupid goddamn headband to explaining the drill to Galileo running a lap, looking like a goddamn gazelle, to Galileo catching the ball a few times and stiffly smiling like he was trying not to.

Galileo was truly the worst football player Ryan had ever seen. It was astounding. It almost seemed like he was trying not to try, but the thing was that Galileo _was_ trying. He really did want to succeed, at least for the sake of not making a total fool of himself. In the most minute way possible, Ryan felt sort of pitiful. It must suck to suck so badly at something and still have to do it.

Football had always come easy to Ryan, and he’d never been forced into it either. It had always been his choice, and it was a choice he made year after year after year because he loved the sport with everything he had inside. It was his life’s true love, the thing he had that no one could ever take away. Ryan figured that was how Galileo felt about running, but that, too, was irrelevant.

Galileo really _had_ looked stupid in that headband, and Ryan daydreamed about yanking it out of his hair and socking Galileo in the mouth. Or something.

Galileo’s hair was sort of stupid too. _Galileo_ was stupid, Ryan thought, but that wasn’t the point. His hair, specifically, was stupid. It curled boyishly this way and that, sticking up at every odd angle even when Galileo wasn’t doing anything. When he sweat during practice or got out of the shower, it just got curlier, turning from its dirt-red shade to something darker and muddier.

It was stupid, was the point.

Ryan still couldn’t wait until the day he got his own life back—no more embarrassing practices, no more training imbeciles, no more feeling tense in his own skin all the goddamn time. 

Galileo was a pest, a very nagging pest, especially when he wasn’t doing anything at all. 

Ryan didn’t know what to do about it.

+++

Galileo woke on Monday to the sound of his blaring alarm clock. It was louder than a gunshot, probably, splitting into Galileo’s head violently. It was all he could do to yank the cord out of the wall to turn it off and roll out of bed.

He’d stayed up all night studying for a Government/Economics test. He knew the material well enough that he hadn’t needed to study, but he’d figured it couldn’t hurt, and now Galileo was regretting that decision spectacularly. His head was pounding, his throat was sore, and his muscles ached.

He trudged to school anyway, feeling too beaten-up to wear anything nicer than sweatpants and a hoodie. He felt terrible, and he looked it too.

By fourth period Galileo felt like he was about to drop dead from sheer exhaustion. His throat burned painfully when he tried to drink water and his head throbbed so badly he had to close his eyes every opportunity he got.

In Ceramics, his teacher let him sleep in the back room where the kilns were kept, shaking him awake gently when the bell rang. Mrs. Veronese was a kind woman, sort of motherly, and Galileo didn’t mind her much. He hated her class, but the arrangement could have been much worse.

Galileo dragged himself to the locker rooms and changed out, his body protesting the movements as he switched into running shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt. They were doing conditioning today, so all the padding and normal uniforms weren’t necessary. 

Ryan was eyeing Galileo questioningly as he coughed into his elbow and rubbed his temples, trying to ease the headache. Galileo met his gaze for a solid moment before turning away and heading out the field. Talking to Ryan today would require far more energy than Galileo had, so he was going to avoid it at all costs.

They started off with a few warm-up laps around the track, which even Galileo struggled with. A few guys on the team sped past him, snickering and asking if even his running speed had been a fluke. Galileo ignored them and got going, albeit much slower than he usually did.

“What’s wrong with you?” a voice asked next to him.

Galileo turned to see Ryan, his hair flopping up and down on his forehead as he jogged beside Galileo. 

“Nothing,” Galileo said. He coughed a little and winced.

“Not nothing,” Ryan said, frowning. He’d been frowning before, too, but it was more defined now. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Galileo said, speeding up a little, but Ryan only matched him.

“You seem sick,” Ryan insisted.

“Well I’m not,” Galileo snapped harshly, and this, surprisingly, made Ryan fall silent.

Even so, they finished the lap together. When they gathered back at center field where the other guys and Coach Beckman were waiting, Galileo moved away from Ryan and picked a spot at the edge of the huddle. Galileo found himself feeling guilty for snapping—that wasn’t something he did often—but he felt physically horrible and Ryan wasn’t making it any better. He was just going to start yelling at Galileo again the moment practice began, anyway.

They started running drills, and though Galileo couldn’t deny he was getting sick, their Saturday practice had actually slightly helped. He caught a few of the balls even though some of them were fumbled before he could make a pass, but it was enough for his other teammates to lay off of him on the teasing for the rest of practice.

After drills everyone got a water break, and Galileo was unhappy to see Ryan walking towards him with a determined gaze. He put his water bottle up to his mouth and started chugging more than he wanted so he could avoid talking. Ryan wasn’t going to let him off that easy, though.

“I can tell you don’t feel good,” he said, coming to a stop.

Reluctantly, Galileo put down his water bottle. “So?” He winced internally at how much of a jerk he sounded like. Sighing, he scrubbed a hand through his sweaty hair. “Sorry. I don’t mean to keep snapping.”

Ryan made a strange face; Galileo couldn’t tell what it meant, but then it was gone and he didn’t want to ask. “If you get any worse you need to tell me. We can alter what you do at practices until you’re feeling better. Coach won’t want you getting hurt.”

“Thanks, but I’m alright,” Galileo said honestly. “I just need to get some sleep tonight.”

Ryan made that same odd expression, but this time it vanished even quicker. “Alright, whatever.” 

+++

The game on Friday night was all anyone had been talking about the entire week. It was the second game of the season, highly anticipated, and it was finally happening. Galileo, unfortunately, had to wear his football jersey to school, even though he wasn’t playing. He had to admit that Ryan looked kind of stunning in his. 

He was the center of attention all day at school on Friday, constantly surrounded by his adoring fans. Ryan played the part of the charming prince well, smiling dazzlingly and thanking everyone who wished him good luck at the game.

Galileo couldn’t help but watch from afar; Ryan transformed under positive attention, especially on game days. He seemed to live for the spotlight when it had to do with football. There were girls hanging off his arms—of course—who followed him around like puppies. Galileo couldn’t help but snort.

The team was dismissed from classes early to get ready for the game and have their team meeting, so Galileo went straight to the locker room after fourth period. Half the guys were already changed out in their undergear, and the rest were filtering in slowly, tossing jokes and friendly insults across the room as they unloaded their bags and went through their lockers to start getting ready. 

Galileo sat on the bench in front of his own locker and fiddled with his thumbs, feeling still very out of place amongst the team. He didn’t know how long it would take for him to gain some sense of belonging, if he even managed to stay on the team, but it seemed like it would never happen. He was too different from these guys; he was named _Galileo_ for crying out loud.

Ryan showed up shortly, everyone’s attention immediately shifting to him. He kept smiling and talking animatedly as he pulled off his t-shirt, eyes trained on a group of their teammates who were gathered on the floor stretching. 

Ryan wasn’t paying any attention at all to Galileo where he was on the other side of the locker room, so Galileo let himself look. He let himself stare at the muscles in Ryan’s shoulders and how they moved when he twisted to grab a shirt out of his locker, the narrow line of his spine, his abs, hip bones, and the V-line that disappeared into his jeans… 

Blushing, Galileo looked away and tried to think of anything but what was inside of Ryan’s jeans. He didn’t need to be getting a hard-on in a locker room full of half-naked football boys. He’d be eaten alive before he even had a chance to blink. Galileo forced himself to think of literally anything _but_ Ryan’s lean body, willing the tight feeling in his stomach to go away.

“Neri!” a voice called, breaking Galileo out of his thoughts about dead rats and literally anything disgusting he could conjure an image of. 

Galileo turned. It was Seth who had called his name. “Yeah?”

“Mind going into the showers and getting us a towel? Ryan dropped Gatorade on the floor.” He smiled. “Don’t want it getting sticky.”

Galileo stood up, eyeing all the guys who were watching the interaction. Ryan was leaning against the lockers with his arms crossed, shirt slung around his neck.

“Um, sure,” Galileo said. 

He walked across the room towards the showers door; on the wall just inside was always a rack of clean towels for the team to use after practices and games. Galileo grabbed the door handle to pull it open, but it stuck just the slightest bit. He yanked it harder and it jerked free, and then Galileo was covered head to toe in something thick and gooey.

He froze, one hand still on the door handle, the other raised in the air by his hunched-up shoulder. His eyes were squeezed shut on reflex, but Galileo could hear laughter behind him. Sighing, he untensed and turned around, coming face-to-face with all the guys on the team cracking up at the prank. He reached up to wipe the substance out of his eyes; his fingers came back dark red. 

“What is this?” Galileo asked miserably. 

Jackson grinned. “Pigeon blood.”

Galileo’s eyes widened and he felt anxiety blooming in his chest, but he desperately pushed it down. He wasn’t going to have a panic attack in front of all his teammates—if they could even be called that. Not when they were standing there snickering at him with seemingly no remorse. No, they’d all known about this. Galileo wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

But then Ryan was hissing sharply, “ _What?_ You said it was fake.”

Jackson let out a happy laugh and ignored Ryan. “Hope you don’t mind bird blood,” he smirked.

“Jackson,” Ryan said, stepping through and away from the group, his own posture just as tense as Galileo’s. Galileo watched him warily. “You said it was fucking fake.”

Jackson’s maniacal smile only grew. “Oops.”

“Are you a _psychopath?_ ” Galileo snapped, surprising everyone, Ryan included. The team turned to him, shock evident on their faces. 

“So he does have a spine,” Seth mused.

“What is wrong with you?” Galileo demanded, focusing mainly on Jackson, Seth and Ryan, but addressing all of them. Carter was somewhere at the back of the group, so Galileo couldn’t tell if he’d been laughing or in on it, too. It didn’t matter, anyway. “I haven’t done anything to any of you, and you hate me just because I’m bad at football,” Galileo continued, unable to tamp down his rising hysteria now that it was bubbling out. “I didn’t even want to play anyway! I’m supposed to be on the cross country team with my friends, not surrounded by a bunch of people who talk about me behind my back and make me feel terrible about myself!”

Ryan’s eyes were wide. “Hey—”

“Shut up!” Galileo exclaimed, panicking even more as he felt himself start to lose control of his breathing. Great, he was going to have a panic attack in front of the entire football team; just what he needed. “Just—shut up, okay? I—” He stopped abruptly, crowding himself into the wall and trying to make it less obvious he was shaking.

Everyone was watching him in a mixture of shock and discomfort. 

“Um—” Seth started, the mocking smile completely gone from his features.

“He said to shut up!” Ryan yelled out of nowhere, and the guys on the team visibly flinched. “Jackson, what the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t just dump real blood on people!”

Jackson sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. “God, you are so boring. It is fake, moron. I was trying to freak him out.”

“That isn’t funny,” Ryan bit out.

He seemed _actually_ angry; Galileo wasn’t even sure what to think about any of it. His emotions were a mess; no one had ever done something so cruel to him before, and for no reason at all. He was going to need a shower immediately. His hair was sticky and matted to his forehead, the thankfully-fake blood dripping down his jaw and into his eyes. Real or not, it was still disgusting, and smelled horrible. 

Galileo pressed further into the wall, knowing he was moments away from sinking to the ground and entering the stage of full-fledged panic attack. There was a buzzing in his ears and he could barely breathe, let alone focus on the situation. He needed to think of something else or get the hell of the locker room, but there was nowhere for him to go. The guys were blocking all of the exits. 

“Get the fuck out. Everyone,” Ryan was saying. “I mean it. Get the _fuck_ out and do not come back. No one say anything to Coach.”

The locker room cleared in an instant, accompanied by scattering footsteps and awkward whispering.

Relieved he was mostly alone, Galileo let himself fall to the floor, backing up as far as he could go and burying his head in his arms. His chest was so constricted it hurt, and his ears and face felt hotter than the sun. Galileo’s fingers were trembling against the sides of his knees, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He felt humiliated, like the world’s biggest loser. The team _despised_ him, and he didn’t know why. 

“Galileo,” Ryan said, his voice suddenly closer and a lot softer than it had been a moment ago when he’d ordered everyone out of the locker room. 

“Go away,” Galileo managed to get out through a hiccuped sob. He was going to pass out if he couldn’t get his breathing under control soon. He was less freaked out about the blood now than he was about the tight feeling in his chest.

“Galileo,” Ryan repeated, his voice gentler than Galileo had ever heard it. He felt a hand on his forearm, and even though he flinched away, the hand stayed put. “Hey,” Ryan said quietly, the side of his body pressing against Galileo’s. “Hey, you need to breath. Come on.”

Galileo shook his head, full-on crying now, unable to get any air through it. This was his worst nightmare, and there was nothing he could even do to stop it. Galileo barely registered the fact that Ryan was shirtless. He wanted to go home; he wanted his mom. 

Ryan’s hand was suddenly a heavy weight on the back of his neck, squeezing firmly. “Breath,” he commanded. “In, out. In, out. Okay? Keep doing it.”

Galileo listened because he didn’t know what else to do; the panic attack was too out of control for him to get a grasp on it himself at this point, and Ryan was here and trying to comfort him. It still felt like a betrayal, but Galileo knew it was all he had. He took deep breaths in and out to Ryan’s voice until he stopped shaking and raised his head just enough to see through his hair and stare at his knees. It felt like it took forever before Ryan moved his hand away from his neck. 

Galileo curled tighter around himself protectively. “You can leave now,” he said tensely.

Ryan’s heavy stare was still on him. “Galileo, look—”

“What,” Galileo cut in, turning to glare, “could you _possibly_ say right now? What, Ryan?”

Ryan looked agonized. “I’m sorry,” he said pleadingly. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

“How was it supposed to be, then?” Galileo asked, straightening his spine more. “What did I even do to make you all hate me so much? I’ve been nothing but nice to you since we met, and sure, I snapped a few times out of frustration at myself, but I’ve never done anything to deserve _this._ Wouldn’t it be easier to beat me up?”

“Don’t,” Ryan said firmly, but his voice was still anguished. “No one on this team would ever hit you. Not even Jackson.”

“And this is somehow better?” Galileo questioned. “More acceptable?”

Ryan’s shoulders slumped, ashamed. “No.”

“Fuck off,” Galileo said, with little feeling. He meant it, but his insides were too drained to say it like he meant it. “Just let me shower and then leave me alone for the rest of the day, okay? I won’t be on your stupid team anymore by the time your head hits the pillow tonight.”

“Galileo, no—”

“That’s what you wanted anyway, right?” Galileo interrupted. “Well so do I. So fine. We both win. Now please, if you want to do anything nice at all—which I doubt, but humor me—then just go away and let me shower, and don’t put spiders in my locker or film me naked or anything else evil you might have planned. Okay?”

Ryan stared at Galileo for a long moment, and then looked away. “Okay.”

+++

Ryan played like shit.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Galileo in the locker room, terror-stricken in a way he’d never seen before. He couldn’t stop thinking about Galileo in the showers, the noise of his crying muffled by the water as Ryan had attempted to scrub the (fake) blood out of the tile cracks. He couldn’t stop thinking about Galileo on the bench, hunched over himself and refusing to make eye contact with anyone, even Coach Beckman. 

And sure, Ryan deserved to feel like shit. He deserved to play like shit, too. They won the game, but barely, scraping by on some undeserved points they were lucky to get. No one on the team had given him much trouble for it, aside from Jackson, of course, but Coach Beckman had been confused and irritated.

Why Galileo hadn’t told about the incident, Ryan had no idea.

And now Galileo was just going to… leave, without any kind of retort or retaliation. He was just going to leave the team, allowing this to have happened to him. 

Ryan should have never let it happen to him.

Galileo was _nice_ —in fact, he was really nice. His crabby remarks only ever came when he was discouraged with his own performance; he never acted out of malice for the sake of being mean. Ryan didn’t usually, either, but when Seth had casually suggested the idea in English class as a joke, he’d gone along with it.

He didn’t realize Galileo would react so poorly; he never even _considered_ the fact that Galileo could get a panic attack from it. Galileo didn’t seem like a typically anxious person, even in his rough moments. But it made sense something so callous could set him off.

Ryan felt ashamed more than anything. 

He knew that Galileo was probably going to talk to Coach Beckman after the game ended about quitting the team. He had no idea what reasoning Galileo would use, if he’d make something up or offer nothing or offer the truth. If he didn’t do the latter, Ryan knew he’d have to himself. He could be a dick, Ryan _knew_ that about himself, but this was too far.

After the game, someone was having a party at their house to celebrate the win, but Ryan wasn’t planning on going. There was no way he could hang out with his friends and Leah and get drunk and talk about the game when he felt so hollow inside. He had to apologize to Galileo again, and he had to make it mean something. Somehow.

He also had to convince Galileo to stay on the team. 

Sure, he was sort of awful, but his speed provided him with a lot of potential if only he could learn to properly catch a ball. All negative emotions Ryan had towards Galileo vanished the moment he saw Galileo’s shoulders start to shake in the locker room, limp and bloody.

It didn’t matter. He had to say _something._

As soon as the game ended, Ryan made a beeline for Galileo.

The other boy spotted him immediately and went rigid, eyes darting to Coach Beckman down on the other end of the bench like he could offer some sort of protection or escape. All the other guys on the team had kept a safe distance away from Galileo the entire game, and Ryan had been on the field the majority of the time. Galileo’s bag was already on his shoulder, like he had been ready to dart as soon as the final whistle blew.

“Galileo,” Ryan started.

“Don’t,” Galileo stopped him, shifting away nervously. “Please don’t. Just let me leave.”

“You can’t quit,” Ryan said, ignoring his plea. “You could be good, okay? And if anything, you should quit because you hate football, not because we pulled a horrible prank on you that we shouldn’t have pulled.”

“I do hate football,” Galileo said, “and you all hate me too, so it kind of works out. Is that all?”

Ryan slumped. “No. I need you to understand how sorry I am. I didn’t—I thought.” He stopped, frustrated that he couldn’t say what he meant; Ryan had never been good with his emotions. “I considered that it was mean, but I didn’t care. I thought I didn’t. What we did was wrong, and I was too selfish to think about how it would actually affect you aside from you getting annoyed or something. Seeing how much it hurt you made me realize what a stupid thing it was to do. I’m really sorry, Galileo. I messed up."

Galileo listened quietly, and then stared at Ryan like he didn’t know what to believe. Ryan didn’t blame him, but he wanted Galileo to know he was telling the truth. It was then he realized some of the boys close to them were listening and watching; Jackson was rolling his eyes and Seth and Carter were trying to get him to turn around. Coach Beckman was still preoccupied down the field. 

“Say something,” Ryan pleaded, choosing to ignore his teammates. 

Galileo answered guardedly. “Thanks for apologizing, but I’m still quitting the team. You may regret it, but they don’t. They’re only upset that it turned out so bad and now they might get in trouble. But I’m not going to tell on you, so no one has to worry about that. Just leave me alone when you see me at school, and go back to pretending I don’t exist. Call it a day.”

“I can’t,” Ryan said desperately. “Look, I feel horrible.”

“I can’t really do anything about that,” Galileo shrugged. All the fight from earlier had left his tone completely. He hoisted his bag further up his shoulder and moved past Ryan, heading towards the parking lot. 

“Galileo,” Ryan called, but Galileo didn’t listen.

Ryan watched him go with a lump in his throat.

+++

Galileo thought about going to Amanda’s to seek some sort of comfort, but in the end he went straight home. He didn’t feel like reliving the events from the locker room, anyway, nor the panic attack that ensued. 

It had been years since he’d had a panic attack that bad, months since Galileo had had one at all. It came as a shock to him, and a little bit of a disappointment, too. He’d thought he was getting better. He’d thought almost all of his elementary school insecurities had gone away, but clearly not. People still disliked him, and Galileo still felt affected by it. Still intensely bothered by it.

Ryan’s reaction had been strange. Galileo wasn’t even going to let himself think about it. He just wasn’t.

As soon as he stepped through the front door, Galileo’s dad was in his face with a smile, asking how the game went and if they won. Galileo was too tired to even pretend to be okay or amused.

“It was fine,” he said dolefully, dropping his keys onto the entryway table and slipping his shoes off. 

Jared picked up on the tone immediately. “Gali, did something happen?”

“Yeah,” Galileo said, and didn’t elaborate. He knew his dad wouldn’t push him on the details if he didn’t expand on his own; it was a big thing about their relationship and how they respected one another. “And I’m quitting the team, and there’s really nothing you can do to stop me. So just let it be, okay? I’m going to bed. Night, Dad.”

+++

“I don’t know what the hell you did, but it was something,” Coach Beckman was saying, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he paced back and forth. 

Ryan sat across from him in his office after Monday practice, slumped down and feeling lower than dirt, which he deserved.

“Neri’s dad called me Saturday morning and told me the kid was off the team. And sure enough, no Neri at practice today. Care to explain?”

Ryan looked up, swallowing hard. “It’s my fault.”

Coach Beckman paused, like he hadn’t expected Ryan to confess so easily. Suddenly he looked a lot more willing to listen. He sat down. “Again, care to explain?”

“The guys all thought it would be funny to pull a prank on him before Friday’s game,” Ryan started, not wanting to relive it himself even though it was far more traumatic for Galileo. “I agreed and helped set it up, which I shouldn’t have done.”

“And what did you _do_ , exactly?” Coach Beckman inquired, eyebrow raised.

“We dumped fake blood on him,” Ryan said without preamble or beating around the bush, “and Jackson told him it was pigeon blood and he sort of freaked out and—I apologized, I tried to, but. I mean, obviously he wouldn’t accept or want to stay on the team. Why would he? I fucked up, Coach.”

Coach Beckman didn’t even admonish Ryan for his language. He glared calculatedly before speaking at all. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan shrugged feebly. “We all thought he would, but then after the game he told me we were off the hook as long as we left him alone. I don’t even think he told his dad, otherwise wouldn’t he have mentioned it to you?”

“Yes,” Coach Beckman said contemplatively. Then he sighed deeply. “I’m disappointed, Ryan. I would have expected this from a few of your… _friends_ … but not you. Not something this big.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said meaningfully, but he knew it was meaningless anyway. “I’ll keep trying to apologize to him. I know I said I’d leave him alone, but I can’t. I feel awful. I didn’t get any sleep all night. And I know he probably feels even worse, so. A lot.”

Coach Beckman rubbed his temples. “You’ve got a week to fix this, West. A week to get the kid back on the team. His dad didn’t seem happy about this on the phone, so I know he’ll be on board with it as long as Galileo is.”

“Coach, I can’t—How am I supposed to fix this?” Ryan asked helplessly. He _wanted_ to, but he had no idea where to even start. Galileo obviously wouldn’t want to see or talk to him. 

“That isn’t my problem,” Coach Beckman said pointedly. “You were able to plan this detailed prank, so plan an apology that gets him back on the field with a football in his hand and a smile on his face. _A week, Ryan._ Am I understood?”

Ryan looked down into his lap. “Yes, Coach.”

+++

“He’s staring at you again,” Amanda whispered across the lunch table.

Galileo pointedly did not turn around. “Okay,” he said.

“ _Lilo_ ,” Amanda said, using a nickname Galileo hated; she always did when she wanted him to really pay attention. “Come on. He looks tortured. And beautiful, like he wants to get on his knees and beg for you to take him back!”

“Amanda, shut up,” Galileo said without heat. “He doesn’t care _that_ much, okay? He’s probably still worried I’m going to tattle on him. There’s probably some bet going.”

Amanda gave Galileo a look like he was a bit thick. “Oh, come on. I doubt Ryan West would be making this much of a fool of himself at school, in front of all his royal subjects, if he didn’t _actually_ feel bad and want your forgiveness. He punched Jackson, for crying out loud.”

It was true; Jackson was currently sporting a nasty bruise across the bridge of his nose, courtesy of Ryan West; this information had spread quickly. It didn’t change anything, though. Ryan’s motives were unclear, anyway; they could be extremely selfish, for all Galileo was concerned. 

“Whatever he wants, I can’t give it to him,” Galileo said with finality, and Amanda finally dropped it, reclipping a purple beret into her hair with a huff.

Ryan had been trying to apologize to Galileo all week, but Galileo didn’t _want_ Ryan’s apologies. He wanted to go back in time and make the whole thing go away, but that wasn’t possible. Ryan was also trying to convince him to join the team again. It was only Wednesday, and Ryan had already cornered him twice and gotten someone to give him a note three separate times apologizing and asking to meet up to talk. It was kind of excessive, and Galileo didn’t know how much longer he could take it before he caved just so Ryan would _stop_. 

It was humiliating. People stared at them when they spoke, Galileo trapped in a corner with his books hugged to his chest protectively, glancing desperately around for means of escape. Getting snickered at when people passed him folded up squares of paper: “From _Ryan West_ ” they’d say with a sneer, insinuating something he didn’t even feel like thinking about anymore. 

Galileo could practically feel the holes Ryan was drilling into the back of his skull with his eyes. It was also embarrassing because Galileo still thought Ryan was the most beautiful boy in the entire school, and it wasn’t making it any easier to keep rejecting his apologetic advancements. Galileo was only so strong. 

Amanda was using this weakness to her advantage. She’d been trying to get Galileo to forgive Ryan and the whole football team since he’d first approached Galileo on Tuesday morning, outside his zero period class.

Galileo didn’t even think Ryan _had_ a zero period. 

She kept bringing up how pretty and sweet and tortured Ryan seemed since everything went down. And how romantic it was that he’d kicked everyone out of the locker room on Friday so he could comfort Galileo in private. She thought maybe they’d fall in love or something now that Galileo had “unlocked his compassionate side”, as she’d put it. Galileo thought it was bullshit.

The bell rang then, bringing Galileo out of his thoughts. It was time to go to Ceramics and make some shitty piece of clay that was almost guaranteed to explode in the kiln, and Ryan would probably try to stop him on the way, too. He could feel it like an impending doom. 

He was right, too—when Galileo passed into the hallway with his binder clutched to his chest, he came face to face with none other than Ryan, staring at him like a deer in headlights. It was a long way down from the high and mighty football captain Galileo once knew of. Ryan even had dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping—Galileo wondered why Ryan was so worried he’d tell. It wasn’t like getting in trouble with the school was new to him.

Galileo was just trying to rid himself of the entire ordeal from start to finish. Ryan was the one not letting him. 

“What do you want?” Galileo asked tiredly. Usually he waited silently for Ryan to initiate conversation before cutting him off and leaving. This time he was impatient. “I’ve got classes to get to, you know. And I still don’t want to talk to you.”

“I know I’m being annoying,” Ryan said, a little unhinged, and well, at least he was self-aware. He didn’t seem to notice the bodies swirling around them with the after-lunch traffic, eyeing their encounter oddly. “But I just—I _need_ you to know I’m sorry, and to join the team again.”

“I know you’re sorry, and I still won’t join the team again,” Galileo said. “Can I go now?”

Ryan held an arm out when he tried to walk away. “Look,” he said lowly, in a tone Galileo hadn’t heard before. Conspiratory, almost. “I thought I could convince you without spilling the entire story, but clearly I can’t. I told Coach what we did to you, and it’s up to me to fix it. I’m trying not just because he told me to, but because I genuinely want to. Jackson is a fucking dick, and he knows what I think about him now. Seth and I aren’t talking, either. I want to make this better.”

Galileo didn’t want to be, but he was dumbfounded. Ryan had told Coach Beckman what they did? Of his own volition? He’d made that choice _himself?_ Ryan was speaking again before Galileo could fully process it.

“I didn’t want to tell you that I’d admitted it because I didn’t want you to think I was using as some sort of leverage for you to believe that I was sorry.” Well, Ryan was right about that. Galileo would have. “But you don’t really believe me either way, so you should know I want to take responsibility for this. And I think we could be good teammates and work well together on the field if you give this all another shot. I’m not saying we have to be friends.”

“I’m not real eager for that,” Galileo muttered, but he could feel himself bending.

Could Ryan be serious?

“Please join the team again?” Ryan asked, for the gazillionth time in two days. “I won’t let anyone touch you.”

“That’s a bold promise to make,” Galileo said, laughing bitterly. 

“I’m promising it,” Ryan said, determined. His eyes glinted with it.

Galileo gaped at him slightly. Ryan West, a boy prettier than the moon, had just promised Galileo he’d keep him safe. Half of Galileo wanted to slap Ryan, and the other half wanted to kiss him. Both halves were equally unattainable. Well, maybe not the slapping, Galileo thought with an twisted inward smile.

“Does this mean you’ll join?” Ryan asked, hopeful as ever.

Galileo narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t quite fill them with anger. Ryan was sort of endearing like this. “I guess,” he said, defeated.

Ryan’s face brightened automatically. It was breathtaking. “Yes!” he exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. Before Galileo had any time to react at all, he was being squeezed in Ryan’s arms in something absurdly similar to a hug, and then the boy was gone.

Galileo only caught Amanda’s smirking, knowing expression from the other side of the hall for a second before the bell rang and he was late for Ceramics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading and hope u enjoyed. kudos and comments appreciated :))


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